


Slow Burn

by Des_Darling



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 14:11:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14021994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Des_Darling/pseuds/Des_Darling
Summary: He did not dare to admit aloud that he found her beautiful; that he wished their paths may have crossed in a different manner; that he hoped she might say the same of him if she were ever to see his face.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this on fanfiction.net two and a half years ago, mere days after TFA came out. Since I started updating it again, I decided to post it here as well. Enjoy!

**Slow Burn**

Night did not exist in the expanse of space, for it was a construct of the physical world: a way to break the monotony of existence. It was a jailer, a cruel emperor, who imprisoned and dictated what could and could not be done within the land he presided over. It told them when to sleep, when the world was to go still, when the sun had to die and rise. And it had always confronted him with raw, gaping wounds and scars that were proof his heart had been mauled ten times over.

The universe did not conceal its eternity, beguile with contrived beauty, lie about the futility of the lives it presided over.

He supposed, however, that if space were to adopt a mask in the present moment that it would wear the abyss of navy that made the midnight. Starkiller Base was silent save for the omnipresent drone of the machinery's maws, the electrical whir of the power that thrummed through the monster's veins, the gentle rattle of crushing gravity against glass. Still as the affect of his mask, he stood a breath away from the door and waited for the smallest trace of a sound to send him thundering down the corridor; away from an unnerving fascination that could see to his undoing.

Was it merely a hiss of air from a vent or breath trickling from the impassive mask of a Stormtrooper? Was it his own exhalation, ragged and forced?

Steeped in paranoia, he listened for betrayal of the sound's origin. Moments fled his wrath, and the sound remained even, infinite,  _eternal._

He reached for the door.

_Clang!_

A heavy footfall; a sound too rude to be anything else. His head whipped in the direction that it had sourced from, predatory eyes zeroing in on the unassuming trooper that clambered down the corridor. Agitation, rage, and an undertone of apprehension prickled on his skin. With every step the Stormtrooper took, the maelstrom of emotions flourished until he was entirely swept up in the storm. It rushed through his veins, the impulse,  _the power,_ and he lurched. Ever irascible, Kylo Ren seized hold of the trooper's neck and thrust him against the wall. The pipe that the trooper's helmet collided with shattered from the trauma, pouring a torrent of white steam and metal shards down the length of his trembling form.

Slowly, Kylo Ren advanced, every footfall echoing with menace. His free hand darted to his waist, curling around the hilt of his lightsaber and tearing it free. It awoke with a roar of crimson flame, sending sparks flying. A bloodhound, the scarlet blade sniffed out the neck of the poor creature in its master's grasp and settled but a hair away from the base of the white helmet.

Later, he might reflect that his own brash temper was at fault for betraying his deliberate intentions of ensconcing himself outside of the prisoner's cell—and eventually within it—but for now he was intoxicated by his fury.

The crackling blade hovered dangerously above the trooper's neck. Caught between his overwhelming outburst and the rage that had already begun to temper, Kylo Ren clumsily slashed at the wall just to the left of the Stormtrooper's head. With a hiss, the metal bore the incandescent scar. His fingers slackened. The Stormtrooper crumbled to the floor. Moments later, he picked himself off the ground and scuttled away.

The departure left Kylo Ren to his devices, and he was quick to set his sights on the door once more. Beneath his malevolent eye, the barrier shuddered along its track, unveiling the cell. On the unassuming cot shoved against the wall, his prisoner lie. He wondered if she still slept soundly despite the clamor just outside of her door, and hated her a little if she did; hated her more if she didn't. Alas, she did not stir, and relief washed over him at the thought that he might be able to be economic with his hatred just this once.

One step placed him within the confines of the cell, and the door squealed back into place. Fluorescent light that had spilled in from the corridor was snuffed out by the shadows that pervaded the space; only the dim glow of the infinite universe remained. He towered over her unconscious form, draped in black robes and shadows and that ominous mask. The paltry light filtering in from the porthole-sized window mounted high on the wall was enough to banish the darkness from her features, and he drank the image in hungrily.

When she slept, the hard lines of her visage tempered into something soft, pleasant,  _inviting._ He did not dare to admit aloud that he found her beautiful; that he wished their paths may have crossed in a different manner; that he hoped she might say the same of him if she were ever to see his face. And he wished, too, that he had worn another mask when they first ran afoul of one another.

He eased himself onto the edge of the metal cot, careful to not wake her. His gloved hands reached for his mask. A gentle click, a hiss, a rustle, and suddenly his cheeks were stinging from the cool, stale air. At his feet, he rested his helmet, and refocused his attention on the girl who opposed him, who vexed him,  _who enticed him._ Wisps of copper-brown hair clung to her forehead, her cheeks, and her neck. A spray of freckles peppered the bridge of her nose. Her lips were rosy and dusted with dirt.

His hand enveloped one of the fists balled at her side. Thrumming through her veins, he felt the perturbation, the resentment. Beneath the peaceful facade of hers lurked a mind that was perhaps as tortured as his; anxiously, he reached into her head and began to read.

Over the years, he had learned that the victims of his power were smitten with the idea that he could witness their every last memory in vibrant detail; a fact of which he exploited, however misguided it might have been. It was entirely more frightening than the reality of his telepathy; if they knew that he only saw colors—emotions—and that it was only time and practice that taught him how to interpret them into images, he would not be as feared as he presently was.

Her present mind was a battlefield of red with the briefest glimmers of gold to egg the violence on. Bright, incandescent scarlet imbued with rage ran rampant amongst the deep, bitter crimson of resentment, and fireflies of tan buzzed excitedly amidst the pandemonium. His own thoughts painted the picture for him: the girl as a young child being pried from a faceless entity, hauled across the blistering sand dunes, and deposited in the belly of an extinct metal beast. Tears coursed down her dirtied cheeks all the while, and her screams echoed across the arid wasteland.

"Don't leave me here." She whimpered in her sleep.

Startled, he retracted his hand. The picture in his mind dissipated. The room grew silent. The world held its breath.

_Rey._

That was her name, as he had somehow discovered. Never spoken by a soul, he perhaps had read it through the colors or had known it—and subsequently  _her_ —in a different life. Nonetheless, it only strengthened the pull that she commanded over him.

But, she did not know him yet, and he did not know what character he might be when they would formally encounter one another for the first time. The man who subdued her and locked her in the cell, and the man who presently sat but a breath away from her were worlds apart from one another. And in the same token, the man who sat on the cot and the man who would reach into her mind for the missing piece of the map would be entirely different characters.

In moments like these, he did not know who he was. Never Ben Solo, of course—the boy was long dead—but perhaps not Kylo Ren either. Kylo Ren would have woken her, raided her mind, taunted her with what he would find; desires and actions that he was sure would be realized with time, for malice was where he thrived. But, currently, he was a nameless shadow. A whisper in the darkness of space. A heart that bled as quick as it froze.

"Afraid..." Rey mumbled in her sleep.

_A man that was afraid._

He wanted to laugh; instead, he leaned over her, touched his lips to her ear. A whisper passed through his teeth. "You haven't met me yet, but you may know me better than anyone else in the universe."

A gentle kiss passed from his lips to his fingertips. He pressed the cool pads to her lower lip. In her head, he reached and sifted through the whorls of colors until he came upon a soft blue entwined with the gentlest green. An ocean. An island. A curse to her later; a blessing now. He coaxed the scene from the depths of her mind and banished the blistering red and parched tan. Though he would interrogate her without mercy when the time came, he would give her peaceful dreams if only for a night.

And with that, he left; nothing more than a shadow in the night.

**End**


	2. Chapter 2

**Slow Burn**

He had one kindness to spare, and it had been given in the form of a single dream. She did not remember his ephemeral mercy—would not ever remember it—and Kylo Ren had made his peace with the idea,  _mostly._ After all, he had been nothing but cruel to her in every exchange thereafter; drove her to the point of tears, even, while he disgustingly basked in exhilaration. It did not mean, however, that he escaped from the scathing flame of betrayal as he watched her raise his grandfather's lightsaber against him, contempt festering in her eyes.

The world was a watercolor painting that had enslaved him. With every passing moment, the dark shades of winter coalesced into unrecognizable pools; the chains that had ensnared his weathered form grew increasingly suffocating. His eyes darted about frantically, trying to lock onto something, _anything,_ that could anchor him to the world. But, with a malice to rival his own, the forest gleefully swallowed its gaunt trees and cracked brush and parched sod with a blanket of white. The snow pelted his bare cheeks, clung to his raven mane, sought the bleeding cavern of the wound at his side. He exhaled sharply, raggedly, as the ravenous beasts of pain feasted on his open wound once more. His only fight came in the form of the fist that he slammed over and over against the gaping chasm in his side; he roared in pain with every strike.

Across the clearing, his opponent stood with a band of silver wreathing her form, her countenance reduced to an ocean of runny cream and copper. To her left, a shaft of cobalt blazed, and rage flared in his chest.

"That is mine." He seethed.

"Then come get it." Rey snarled.

Desire dressed as revenge and the infernally overwhelming instinct of pain vied for his attention. If he was smart—if he acted in accordance to Snoke's training—he would flee and lick his wounds, bide his time until another opportunity for revenge came: one that would guarantee his victory. But his mind was ever clouded; Kylo Ren imagined that if he did not seize that lightsaber now,  _her_ now, the opportunity would never rear its head again.

He charged.

The elegance of his power and his swordsmanship had been reduced to a series of clumsy, furious slashes in her general direction—where an artist had once composed gorgeous melodies of colors with steady hands was now a madman that slathered shades on a canvas without mind. Deprived and depraved, he growled and snarled and hissed at Rey, sweeping her up into a feral dance of weight and wills.

She lunged toward him, struck with the blue beam, and connected the blade of her weapon with the column of crimson that formed his own. Fiery sparks rained on their hands and the ground below. The snow sizzled as it received the tiny embers; a hiss passed through Rey's clenched teeth. Still locked, the iridescent blades squealed and crackled as they ground against one another, until finally a forceful push by Kylo Ren sent Rey's saber hurtling towards a tree. The white ocean eagerly accepted the weapon, snuffing out the blade and leaving it nothing more than a metal hilt poking out of the snow. Divested of her lightsaber, Rey was left at his mercy; wasting little time, Kylo Ren shoved her to the ground. Plumes of gossamer crystals puffed up around them. He lowered the scarlet beam to her neck. The red light illuminated her insubstantial features—defiance.

"Go ahead and kill me." Her voice was strained, breath labored from the weight of the man on top of her. "After all, that's what you do best."

The colors of her thoughts flared around him: the crimson of her hatred that he had grown well acquainted with, the inky navy of her swelling fear, and the faintest rose—the only color whose identity he had yet to ascertain. Her fear enveloped him, possessed him, perplexed him...was it death she feared? Or something else entirely?

"I wouldn't dream of giving you the satisfaction of dying here." He retorted.

_Or anywhere, for that matter._

"But one of us will." She held up her blood-swathed hand. "If not me, then you. Alone."

_I could take you with me, if that's the case._

"Are you worried for me?" A weak smirk began to manifest on his lips.

Red; this time in the form of flushed cheeks. "Of course not. After everything you've done, I want nothing more than to see you dead."

Crimson eroded. Crimson wavered. And he knew a lie when he heard one, telepathy or not. But before he could taunt her with knowledge of her feeble lie, a sharp pain radiated from the point where her fist connected with his wound. Glass shattered in his abdomen. Agony wrote itself into his flesh. Torment ached in his bones. His lightsaber plummeted to the ground below, searing an angry scar in the flesh of winter. With gloved talons, he clawed at his cavernous wound and collapsed in the snow, granting Rey a precious moment to scramble to her feet. Within moments, she towered over him, hyperborean winds whipping her copper locks wildly, her own lightsaber ablaze.

Writhing and bleeding and fading between the conscious world and his dreams, Kylo Ren clawed at the snow, gloved fingers seizing fistfuls of white with every weak attempt to recover his weapon. The hilt quivered as he reached for it, but never slid across the ice as he wished. It was a silent test of wills, of hubris: would the great Kylo Ren allow himself to be bested by defiant powers?

Thorns of ice tore at his wound, arousing the purest pain in his abdomen. His consciousness wavered, self-preservation begging him to sleep, but he knew that to fall to bed with his instincts was to guarantee that he would never wake again. And so, though beasts feasted on his blood and his agony, he hauled his body towards the lightsaber buried in the snow.

When his fingers finally curled around the hilt, energy pulsed through his vessels. It was not enough to rejuvenate him, but enough to beckon him to rise again. Forcing breath from his lungs, but stealing it back precious seconds later, he staggered to his feet. Stars danced about his gaze, the euphoria of pain made him swoon, but he forced himself to stand against her.

He spent seconds on his feet before Rey hurled herself at him. Her weight coupled with his tenuous stance forced him into the embrace of winter once more. Mere inches from his face, his grandfather's legacy blazed. Behind that, her chocolate brown eyes were a storm of rage and bewilderment. They were the eyes of someone who didn't know if they could kill, if they could live with the aftermath, if they would begin a legacy of death here; once they had been his own.

The fate that had protected him for this long capitalized on Rey's conflict. And for it always favored the clever before the brave, fate blessed Kylo Ren with a single moment to rewrite the course of events.

"You'll like the base planet, I think." He croaked. "Everywhere you look there are trees that go on for miles."

Innocuous, the statement took her aback. Her stance wavered. "What?"

The momentary distraction was enough. It took strength that he did not possess to force the lightsaber from her hand, even more to stumble to his feet. But her countenance betrayed her bemusement; her brows were knit, her lips parted ever so slightly, her brown eyes wide. She scrambled back in a weak effort to put as much space between them as possible. As if a barrier of air would save her.

Still clutching his wound, he flicked his wrist toward her. Power struck her abdomen, sending her delicate form soaring. Against the trunk of a frost-coated tree, her limp body slammed. The branches chattered. Rey moaned. Then, all was silent.

Released from the spell of adrenaline, the high of malice, Kylo Ren almost fainted, but willed himself to claim the spoils of the arduous battle. He shambled towards the tree that guarded the unconscious Rey. The snow covered brush crunched beneath him as he sank to his knees; he scrambled to find her lightsaber and hurriedly shoved it next to his own when his hands ran afoul of it. Fabled weapon secured, it left only Rey to take care of.

The epithelial seams that flanked his injury busted one by one as he shoved his arms beneath her limp form and heaved her off the cold ground. Again, he saw stars and was spelled by disorientation, but he bit down on his lower lip to force himself to stay awake, though his mind nagged at him to leave her. Carrying her with him was begging for death to strike him down, but he refused to leave her to the mercy of a frigid wasteland;  _to be rescued by the Resistance._ Briefly, his eyes flickered to the fallen Stormtrooper, FN-2187, who lie still in the snow. His breath was shallow, if not entirely gone; Kylo Ren hoped it would be soon, if not.

He began to walk with little mind paid to the direction he had chosen. Any step, even if toward nothing, was better than for him to bleed out in the snow and bait the wolves to come for her. Time seemed to crawl as he shuffled through the snow, rubies pouring from his prolific wound. Around him, the wind howled, and in the distance he heard explosions, saw the sky illuminate and darken in the span of seconds. His mind wandered to dangerous topics; he once thought of how furious Rey would be when she woke and realized that she was trapped once more. But, he was sure that she would be even more enraged if he were to leave her at the mercy of winter.

Twice, fatigue proved an insuperable foe. Shadows encroached on his vision, gravity fought for control of his muscles. Twice, Rey began to slip from his grasp. The weight of time and her body sought to bay him; he fell to his knees. Twice, he defied the limits of his body and rose from the whitewater.

 _We won't die out here,_ he vowed.  _I will find something._

And eventually he did. Kylo Ren stumbled into a clearing. Nestled in the tree line, a metal beast grinned at him with a silver maw, flanked by Stormtroopers, who quickly swarmed him. The white that rushed around him—the armor of his men and the gossamer flakes of snow—was disorienting. He felt hands grab at his arms, attempt to pry Rey from his grasp, release him when they realized their efforts only asked for his wrath. The sound of the brush cracking beneath him was thunderous, as was the blood that rushed through his head. Still clinging to the limp body of his adversary, Kylo Ren stumbled onto the ramp and collapsed.

**End**


	3. Chapter 3

**Slow Burn**

Blinding white. Kylo Ren began to open his eyes, but ultimately opted to squint when he found the rude, fluorescent bulbs overhead glaring at him. As indefinite as his bearings were, his body was nothing more than a lukewarm, muddled mess of feelings. A dull rumble in his stomach echoed throughout his abdomen. Pain began to manifest in his limbs as muted aches. Sand coated his tongue, chased by a hint of metal. Coiled around his midsection was a cloth viper that guarded his wound; he wondered, in passing, if it still bled. Perhaps the fault of delirium, he felt cool liquid trickle from the gash only to be supplanted moments later by the tight pull of threads preventing skin from being pried asunder.

He raised a hand to his eyes, buying a precious moment to shield his gaze from the wrath of the lights. Blessed with momentary reprieve, his gaze triumphed over the oppression of the bulbs; soon, he found himself staring at a canyon of weathered flesh and thick calluses.

"Sir," a Stormtrooper clambered towards him.

"Where is Re—I mean, the girl?" His voice was a strained rasp.

An attempt to heave his aching body into a sitting position was terminated by his flaccid limbs; trembling, his arms gave out beneath him and hurled him into the avalanche of pillows and blankets that had overtaken his bed. Hands cloaked in cool, smooth material instantly came to his aid, but he swatted them away.

"She's being held in one of the cells, sir."

Kylo Ren's dark eyes locked with the narrow chasms of ink that concealed the Stormtrooper's gaze.

"Why?" He questioned, and only moments later realized how absurd that inquiry must have sounded.

"General Hux ordered us to lock her up."

"Well,  _General Hux_  should not concern himself with the girl's fate." He ground out through clenched teeth, again trying to bring himself to sit up; this time accomplishing such a feat. Panting, stiff limbs throbbing, he flopped an arm over his midsection and waved the other at the trooper. "Bring her to me."

"Sir, you're still weak. You can't—"

"I'm weak?" Kylo Ren seethed.

"Sir, I didn't mean—"

He thrust the Stormtrooper back with the Force. Never mind that the trooper only skid back a few inches; the purr of power in his veins was galvanizing. Content, he watched the poor creature scuttle towards the door and disappear into the corridor.

Now alone, he sought his nightstand for something to occupy his attention. A half-empty glass of water sweat furiously beside a pair of lightsabers; beyond that, perched precariously on the edge, a metal tray cradling two thick rolls of gauze, a pair of scissors, and a bloodstained needle with a tail of thread. Carelessly, he swiped the items off of the tray and brought it before him. The gleaming chrome confronted him with the image of a man bedecked in injuries; gently, he grazed his fingertips along the surface of an angry laceration beneath his eye and winced. It was nothing that time wouldn't heal, but uncomfortable all the same. Below the cut lie another, which he tested and found to sting as well. Quickly, he abandoned the venture of exploring his wounds and turned his attention to his hair.

A far cry from gently mussed, his sable locks were a tangle of curls and loose waves that poked up in every direction or insisted upon plastering themselves to his forehead and cheeks. With quivering fingers, he pried said strands from his skin and raked his entire hand through the rest in a poor attempt to tame his mane, but ultimately abandoned the task; the last thing that he needed was for anyone to see Kylo Ren pawing at his bed-head.

That left him with little else but the bandage wrapped around his abdomen to entertain his restless spirit. His fingers began to meticulously spread apart the layers of cloth and gauze, only stopping to allow him reprieve in the form of a pained hiss and a weak bang of his head against the headboard. Soon, he found himself staring at the remains of his once monumental injury. Tended to while he slept, the wound was nothing more than an inflamed, jagged line peppered with bruises and flakes of dried blood. A row of staples soldered the two sides of the chasm together, flesh haphazardly joined along the puckered midline. Curiosity compelled him to touch it, but reason swayed him; he guided the dressings back in place.

Mostly sated, his curiosity all but perished entirely. He rested his head against the panel of his headboard and closed his eyes. World immersed in ink, it left the realm of his mind to craft scenery, and as it had incessantly in his dreams, it painted the picture of snow. Flurries swept through the forest, navigated the macabre world of skeletal tree limbs with gossamer wings, muted by the black of night but beautiful still. Sometimes, he shuffled through the desolation with a trail of crimson to mark his path, others, he beheld the fearsome gaze of his enemy and the cobalt glow that ignited the warm shades of her eyes. Now, he collapsed in the monster's maw, crushing her with his grasp, imagining that she was looking at him,  _that she was holding onto him._

"Sir," a twice-muffled voice called from the other side of the door. "Your guest is here."

Smoke poured into the room as the door invited his company inside. A pair of Stormtroopers flanked Rey on either side, each claiming one of her arms. The moment she laid eyes on Kylo Ren, her impassive affect was overthrown by a grimace; in response, he smoothed his own tempestuous emotions beneath a glass mask.

"Release her." He commanded.

They thrust her into the wolf's den. She stumbled to the foot of his bed, directing a fierce glare over her shoulder at the troopers.

"Leave."

"But, sir," one began to protest.

_"Get out!"_

Without further protest, the Stormtroopers scrambled out of the room. The door slid shut behind them.

Kylo Ren suddenly became conscious of the blankets pooled at his waist, how he wasn't clothed from the waist up, how sweltering and suffocating the room had become. Likewise, he watched Rey fidget with the billowing fabric wrapped around her tunic, struggle to maintain her dour countenance, shift from her left to right foot over and over, as if swaying to an inaudible melody.

"You're alive." She finally remarked, seemingly without emotion.

But he felt them: a wicked brew of frustration, disappointment, but, overwhelmingly,  _relief._

"As are you."

She averted her gaze the moment his eyes met hers: a clumsy move that was nonetheless supposed to communicate that she was more fascinated with the window than with him. At length, she pursed her lips, nipped at the lower one with her teeth, exhaled softly. All the while, Kylo Ren stared at her, struggled to think of something to say besides the awfully forward statement that was rising in his throat.

A tenuous silence settled between the two of them. He imagined that a little thread of fine silk ensnared them, upheld the integrity of the quiet. Now, they lie in wait for the other to take a knife to it. And after a host of moments, each more uncomfortable than the last, she shifted beneath his stare and severed the thread.

"Is there a shower here?"

The statement took him aback; he imagined that it was exactly how she felt when he had mused aloud about the base during their fight.

"Yeah." He replied lamely and pointed at the unassuming door posted on the adjacent wall.

Grime dominated her lovely features, but more so contentment—as if he had passed a silent test. Calmly, she strode to the dresser in the corner, pilfered a garment from one of the drawers, and opened another. As he observed her rummage through his dresser, curiosity possessed him; though weakened, he attempted to read her, but only felt the spark of a connection for a passing second before it swiftly perished.

_You're acting as though we're old friends._

Almost instantly, she tossed a turbid glance toward him. "In a different life, we may have been."

Her tiny hands swiped another article of clothing and slammed the drawer shut. Without so much as another word, she disappeared into the fresher, leaving him alone and reeling in shock.

* * *

General Hux had arrived in a storm of thunderous footsteps and poorly-restrained growls shortly after Rey ensconced herself in the shower. Hundreds of questions and complaints seethed through his clenched teeth, but Kylo Ren's attention was occupied by the soft, muffled pitter patter of water and the occasional hum that sourced from the fresher.

"You have had ample time to capture the droid, but you insist that it is not as useful as some scavenger girl! Snoke is growing impatient with us, and it is your fault."

It was a labor to bay his own impatience, his wayward thoughts. They drifted, of course, to everything but the situation at hand; topics innocuous and forbidden alike. He felt himself grow increasingly restless beneath Hux's relentless bombardment, watched the evidence of such pile up. The water glass had been divested of its contents, the rolls of bandages unravelled and riddled with haphazard incisions and fraying edges. He wondered far too often if Rey could hear the vicious torrent of his mind and if she was amused by his predicament.

"Tell me, Kylo Ren, after her constant opposition, why is that woman not dead yet?" General Hux growled.

"I'd ask the same of you, Hux." He replied coolly.

His cheeks flushed scarlet. Crimson seethed in his head. "Where is she?"

Kylo Ren lazily motioned towards the fresher. "Showering."

Smugly, he watched as General Hux's eyes widened, his nostrils flared, his hands formed tight fists. His knuckles paled to a shade of white to rival the snow; he buried them in the mound of blankets on either side of Kylo Ren and leaned in dangerously close. Venom dripping from his tongue, he ground out a single question. "When have we  _ever_ let our prisoners shower?"

The faintest of smiles tugging at the corners of his lips, Kylo Ren shrugged.

**End**


	4. Chapter 4

**Slow Burn**

Her jaw dropped the moment she entered the fresher. Chrome and steel embraced the floors, the walls, and the appliances, while a vent blew a steady stream of warm air into the chamber. The air was redolent of both antiseptic and a floral perfume; the scents clashed, warred for dominance, but ultimately were forced to coexist. Such a discordant aroma tickled her nose and bitterly reminded Rey that she had just avoided her own impending battle. For now.

The fresher was silent—even the hum of the ship could not contest the omnipresent quiet—and each passing moment made her more uncomfortable than the last. It was as if the world was holding its breath, as if it knew that the ominous shadow that lurked over her would soon pounce and devour her. For days she had felt like a rabbit caged in the den of a wolf; though the Stormtroopers were careful to always address her properly, the word 'guest' had become synonymous with 'prey'.

Gently, she rested the garments that she held on the polished countertop and padded towards the sink. A hollow basin presided over by an angular faucet, the structure winked at her, promised to slay the silence if she dared consult it. Enticed, her hands found the cool embrace of the twin knobs. Whitewater spewed from the faucet and into the metal receptacle; droplets rattled against the side, filling the room with a tinny chatter to accompany the water's hiss. She cupped her palms beneath the stream and gulped down a handful of the cool water, splashed another onto her burning cheeks. The sensation of cold liquid trickling down her parched throat and her blistering skin was sublime; Rey basked in the icy reprieve and tried to imagine that she was poised lakeside with water clinging to her cheeks and canopies of leaves shielding her from the sweltering heat of the sun. Vividly, she could picture the scene when she closed her eyes, and ghosts of the dream still lingered when she finally dared to meet the gaze of her reflection; verdant hues and shafts of white blended into the tans and the grays.

On either side, she was flanked by gleaming metal, which called attention to her softness and warmth. Orderly, her surroundings looked upon her with a judicious eye, chiding her pandemoniac appearances. Bloody curlicues and superficial burns painted her freckled flesh, while her hair struggled to preserve the integrity of her chosen style; a war of chaos and order, some strands remained steadfast in forming three distinct loops, while others rebelled in every direction. A laugh bubbled in her throat; she wanted to comment that it appeared as though she had been dragged through hell, and every last bit of it was true. Pearly teeth showed themselves as a smile fought its way onto her lips. Her fingers wound themselves around the elastic bands. With three gentle tugs, she gave into the pandemonium and basked in the chaos as her wild locks fell around her.

Next to go were her clothes, which she eagerly shed. Tattered and matted with a menagerie of foreign substances and odors, the material all but dripped off of her in some areas, clung to her as a second skin in others. Gingerly, she peeled the garments from her body and discarded them to the floor. Around her feet, the fabric pooled in a limp heap of tan and brown.

She abandoned her place at the sink and sought the attention of the shower. A control panel that offered a bevy of options greeted her; mindlessly, she selected one and was met with a sudden downpour. Thousands of streams of water rained from the ceiling, chased by plumes of steam. The warmth enveloped her arms and beckoned her into the storm; Rey plunged herself into the torrent.

Instantly, the water overwhelmed her. It pressed hot kisses into her bare flesh, wed tangled clumps of hair to her cheeks, and caressed her aching muscles. All at once, the pain that throbbed in her spine, the tension that seized her shoulders, and the torrid spell that ruled her skin seemed to dissipate; the tendrils of steam that swirled around her pilfered her woes right from her mortal form.

It was perhaps the most at ease that she had ever been in her life. Hours seemed to pass as water lapped at her skin, seared comfort into her muscles, and spelled her pervading soreness into a muddled, ebbing tide of discomfort. She felt herself be spun into a silky cocoon and expelled moments later; her body was devoured by flames and reborn from the smoldering ashes. Entirely entrancing, it almost tricked her into believing that she was safe, that the sumptuous deluge was not the product of her feeble attempts to escape Kylo Ren if only for a moment.

But it was, and it seemed silly to her now. The tide of pleasure that had swept her up was receding; slowly, her better senses chased away the euphoria. She had not asked for the shower entirely out of want; it was meant to buy her precious time to think, and every moment that she squandered on thoughts of how heavenly the water happened to be was a moment that she was handing to Kylo Ren's nefarious mind. It nagged at her—the idea that he was poring over her downfall and conjuring a thousand forms of torture, each more gruesome than the last. Outside her door, he was Hades ensconced on a throne of bedsheets and pillows and  _malice_ ; his helm of darkness rested at his feet and bared a visage that was more deceptive than his mask. She could pretend that he was a timeless creature that was forged in darkness when he donned it, could not, however, when he confronted her with his entirely human face.

Kylo Ren was chaos disguised as a man, she had to remind herself. She had seen sandstorms with more restraint than he showed. And, if there was any semblance of a heart amidst the festering venom in his mind, it yearned only for power.  _For blood._

_"Don't be afraid. I feel it too."_

His low voice crawled along her arms, rumbled in her veins. When that tenuous thread had snapped into place between them for the first time, her fear had poured out of her and his burgeoning uncertainty had poured out of him. For a brief moment, she had glimpsed into his mind and saw a gaping abyss of black—in her own bones, she felt inadequacy ache. And what she had seen seethed through her teeth; spitefully, Rey had watched him recoil at the mention of Darth Vader's name.

She slid to the floor, closed her eyes, and imagined him lying in the snow, bleeding crimson onto the ivory blanket. When the chance had presented itself, she should not have hesitated in driving her lightsaber through his chest, in ending his reign of terror. She should not have spoken to him, blessed him with a moment of reprieve as he struggled to acquire his weapon. She should not have called him a monster, goaded him to remove his helmet.

The water was slowly but surely turning to ice. Her fingers crept towards the shower's control panel. The downpour ceased, but the cold refused to; as the air leeched droplets off of her skin, frost supplanted them.

She should not have ever pondered the idea that they could be friends.

* * *

Upon his departure, Hux vowed that Snoke would be furious, and the idea haunted him for every moment thereafter. While he had relished in the pride of provoking Hux, he was decidedly less pleased with the idea of provoking the Supreme Leader Snoke.

Left to his thoughts, he had been graced with ample time to brace himself for his master's impending wrath and to ponder his next steps with Rey. Kylo Ren had decided that he found her intriguing, but not any more so than one might a pet. And any brief lapse of his malice, a glimmer of compassion, was not of his own volition; the dream was the fault of sleep deprivation, hesitating to end her life was the fault of disorientation and his wounds, allowing her to shower was the fault of his addled mind and her sudden imposition.

 _The scavenger girl means nothing to me,_ he repeated until he was convinced that he meant it.  _I will not let anyone, especially her, stand in our way, grandfather._

He clenched his fist and threw his head back as he felt hatred slither through his veins:  _the darkness._ Seductive shadow, it whispered through his vessels, coiled itself around his muscles, lulled him into its embrace. In his chest, he felt the smoldering embers of his power catch fire and blaze into a vicious conflagration; the heat rippled along his arms and burned restlessness into his limbs. Kylo Ren was stronger than the pull of the light, and he would always be so long as he resisted its guile, its cruel agents.

_End her the moment she walks through that door._

His fingers curled around the hilt of his lightsaber as he heard the barrier tremble on its tracks. With floral scents in her wake, Rey emerged in one of his tunics that she had belted around the waist with a leather sash. Never once did her eyes wander towards him; she inspected the ends of her hair without so much as a look towards the scowl he wore. Her nonchalance, the gall of the idea that she was  _safe,_ only exacerbated his rage. He raised his hand with intent to seize her form with the Force, but her voice halted his movements.

"You didn't bring me here to let me use your shower, so get on with whatever it is that you need to do."

It was an invitation to kill her, and he should have gladly accepted it. With her blood, he could have washed his hands of any guilt, any regrets; could have won back his better senses, his proclivity for malevolence. But the slight tremble in her voice quaked through him, as did her poorly-masked fright. His hand faltered and then retreated to his side. The lightsaber plummeted from his grasp and onto the sheets below. Still seething within him, the darkness chided Kylo Ren for his weakness.

Perhaps oblivious to the fact that he had been poised for the kill but moments prior, Rey maintained her dour affect, steadied her sharp glare. And though her visage was ice, he knew that power was slowly catching fire within; a little flame was coming to life in her breast, and, if he did not contain it, the fire would threaten to devour him.

"You know what you are now, don't you?" He levied the question.

"Your prisoner."

"My  _guest,_ " he snapped. "But more than that, still. I know that the Force flows through you, even now. Surely you've begun to feel the pull of the dark."

She pressed her lips into a grim line, tipped her head back ever so slightly to cast her cold gaze at him from a dangerous angle. "I feel nothing."

Frustration flared within him. He clawed at the sheets to bay his mounting temper, ground his teeth to bar the shouts that threatened to escape his throat, exhaled sharply to keep himself from lunging at her. She was lying, he was entirely sure of it, and though he expected her to resist, it enraged him still. Exasperated, he huffed and locked gazes with her. Their dark eyes each burned with animosity; he channelled all of his hatred into that one look, hoping that he might antagonize her into compliance. But, if it fazed her—he did not dare to try to read her and unwittingly let her into his own mind—she did not betray such. Her brown eyes were devoid of compassion, and he envied her for it.

"You need a teacher."

"I don't need anyone, especially not you,  _Kylo Ren._ " Her words were acerbic, sharp enough to corrugate steel.

Another lie. He thought back to the time he searched her mind for the map, only to find himself lost in an ocean of stygian waters. Navy held court in her thoughts—ephemeral fear, but eternal sorrow. The yearn for something else. Someone else.

"That isn't true, though, is it?" Malevolence commanded his wicked tongue before he could think to consider the aftermath. "Even though you know they're gone, you still feel like you need them. You still want them to come back for you, but they never will."

The ferocity of her gaze wavered. Quivers softened the strong line of her jaw; a quake danced along her lower lip. Her dark lashes drooped, momentarily veiling the brown oceans of her eyes, and when she opened them once more, glass had settled along their surfaces, gems in their corners.

"You can accept my offer, or I will kill you." Venom scathed his tongue, simmered in the cavernous scars of his heart.

She said nothing to him as she approached, as she took his lightsaber into her hands and ignited the blade, as she thrust it into his palm with the tip hovering inches away from her chest _._ "My answer is no."

He noticed her voice crack and quiver, how fear made her swoon. She was brave, but she was human—the fear of death petrified her. With the crimson blade still hovering before his enemy, Kylo Ren's instincts vied for his favor. On one hand, malice intoxicated him with images of his lightsaber shattering her breast, ending her life so suddenly, so fluidly. On the other, twisted pride raged.

Eyes never leaving hers, he hooked the tip of the blade beneath the leather sash. An incandescent cobra, it hissed and spat sparks as it devoured the fabric of the tunic and the belt; Rey trembled as the tip grazed her abdomen. She drew in a shuddering breath, arrested it in her lungs, struggled to smooth her trepidation beneath a mask of indifference. All the while, Kylo Ren bore his nefarious eyes into her own, taunting her with the idea that her fate was a slave to his whims.

Foward or back. A sudden movement toward her would drive the blade into her abdomen; a sudden movement back would save her life again. Her life teetered on the tip of his weapon. Even Kylo Ren himself did not know what he would choose to do with it when he began to move his wrist. He blinked and let the momentary spell of instinct command him.

The infernal shaft sliced through the leather sash and it fluttered to the ground. Rey gasped and stumbled back, heartbeat thundering in her chest.

"Resist me as much as you want, but you're trapped here for the time being." He mused. "I suggest that you humble yourself, though. Snoke would have killed you."

**End**


	5. Chapter 5

She didn't fight the Stormtroopers as they swarmed her, seizing her arms and binding them behind her. No, what she fought for was his gaze—one moment aflame with malevolence and rage and the next ever elusive; Kylo Ren's eyes followed his lightsaber as he returned it to the nightstand, remained there as the metal restraints tightened around her wrists, frigid against her bare skin. She opened her mouth to say something, but breath merely welled in her lungs, some sort of wrangled tension that ached with words she wanted to say but could not find, though she supposed that it did not matter anyways in the end. Brusque, the Stormtroopers barked that it was time for her to return to her cell and yanked her towards the door; the sheer force and abruptness of their movements, combined with the fear still trembling electric in her bones sent her toppling to the ground.

With a strangled whine she landed, tailbone slamming against the ground and sending pain hurtling up the column of her spine. At the sound, Kylo Ren's eyes flickered towards her, dark with a peculiar pain that was gone the moment she recognized it; the apathy that swallowed it up, the indifference that steered his attention back to the empty viewport posted on the wall stung far more than a wound ever would.

"You're a monster." The words dripped from her lips, venomous and spiteful and petulant.

His shoulders tensed, muscles straining beneath his scarred flesh. As the Stormtroopers hauled her back onto her feet, she glanced at his knuckles, which were pale against the dark gray sheets clenched in his fists.

 _Say something,_ she demanded, goaded. But whatever bond had snapped into place between them earlier had grown silent, severed; on his end, she felt nothing but cold silence, knew that her words were only echoing within the confines of her own mind.

In the grasp of the Stormtroopers, she slumped, resigning herself as they began to march her into the adjoining corridor. They guided her over the threshold, and she craned her neck to look over her shoulder at the man left behind, footsteps meandering as he remained impossibly still, frozen in an eternal moment of frustration.

But, when it seemed she was out of view, his head dropped, fists relaxing and sheets sagging in relief. He sank onto his back, rolling onto his uninjured side and tugging the sheets up to his shoulders. Seconds later, the lights flickered off all at once, darkness swallowing its prince, and the door slid shut. But she had seen it all the same, could not shake the image nor the chaos it wrought in her heart. Later, she would regret not soaking in every detail of the corridors they hauled her down, not noting any possible vents or gaps she might be small enough to fit into, any areas where she might stow away, lying in wait to overpower someone who could give her the resources to make a daring escape.

No, even when they shoved her into the cell and she stumbled forward, falling to her knees beside the single cot inside, she was not focused on her imprisonment—on how much she wished she was anywhere else in the galaxy and hated that every moment away proved she had waited her whole life for nothing at all.

What she hated was the brief look of devastation that had passed over Kylo Ren's handsome features; the guilt that weighed in her stomach like lead.

* * *

_The room was red. Not the brilliant scarlet of flame or the ruddy crimson of bloodshed, but the muddy rust color that only comes with a desert sky at dusk. It glazed everything in its path, enveloping the heap of threadbare blankets in the corner and the decaying wooden table in the center and the dusty, flaking helmet on top of it. As he grazed the gloved tips of his fingers along the chipped insignia of the Rebellion stamped on the side, he knew whose home he was in, didn't have to look behind him when the metal door slammed shut with a rude_ clang! _and soft footfalls announced that he was no longer alone._

_But perhaps the fact that he knew who he would find if he did look forced his gaze over his shoulder._

_Her features were contorted with exhaustion and frustration, despair weighing heavy on her trembling lower lip, the damp corners of her eyes. The ridges of skin scrunched together between her brows quivered as she pursed her lips, as the strong line of her jaw tightened beneath sand-weathered skin. One of her hands clawed at the goggles dangling from the base of her throat, yanking at them, while the other remained limp at her side, clutching a wrapped package of powder. With a light pop, the elastic band of the goggles snapped, and she tossed them aside, scratched lenses clattering to the ground._

_And then, without warning, she withered against the door, body crumpling onto itself until she was a mess of torn fabric and spindly limbs. Ren flinched as he watched her bring the tiny portion to eye level, as he realized that the shadows lurking beneath her eyes and haunting the sharp lines of her face were not in fact a trick of the light. In place, he stood still when the plastic packet fluttered to the floor beside her and a sniffle sliced through the air, sudden and sibilant and sobering. Seconds later it was followed by another and then another, until finally her resolve eroded into whimpers. Futilely, Ren squeezed his eyes shut, as if that would somehow erase the haunting sobs that echoed around them, shake the chilling cold that crept along the column of his spine as her loneliness, pale and blue, enveloped him._

_He never felt tender towards anyone, rarely felt anything really at all actually but rage and hopelessness. Yet, the heavy, aching sobs that echoed within the emptiness of his heart stirred something within him; three steps brought him to her side, where he sank to the ground. She had drawn her knees to her chest, buried her face in the cowl bunched around her shoulders as she cried. A strand of hair slumped from one of her buns, and instinctively Ren reached out to guide it back in place, only to be reminded when it steeled against his touch that this was the past and there was nothing he could do to change it. He was years too late to be anything but an apparition who had threatened to kill the woman that this girl would eventually become only hours before, but who could not imagine doing anything but staying by her side now._

_Memory, vivid flashes of times he had fought too hard to forget, overwhelmed him as he settled beside her, the space between them so small and insignificant. Hours seemed to pass before her sobs tempered into rattling whimpers and finally into nothing at all. In the dark and all alone, Rey scrubbed at her wet cheeks and picked herself off of the ground, stooping to retrieve the portion that lie at her feet._

_"Please come back." She murmured in a half-prayer, half-plea to the merciless night, her voice hardly louder than the sand whispering against the metal hide of the felled beast she called home._

Blood throbbed in the wound at his side as he flopped onto his back, groaning and opening his eyes to the dark ceiling yawning above him. He didn't dare to look to the side, to the scatter of stars beyond the viewport where he knew he would find the hulking mass of the  _Supremacy_ looming in the distance. It would only remind him that he was wayward and foolish and all of the wicked things he had never wanted to be but had become anyways.

Ren couldn't change the past, couldn't change the fact that he had become the very thing everyone had feared he would become; just as he couldn't change that years ago Rey had lived that moment he had just seen in all of its crushing loneliness and despair.

Tension ached in his teeth as he heaved himself up into a sitting position, biting back the pain that bloomed vicious in his wound. But the ambivalence, the gnarled mess of hatred and intrigue and compassion, that the thoughts of Rey inspired for once didn't feel so suffocating, so divisive. He peeled the sheets off his body, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Against the bare soles of his feet, the coldness of the floor was sudden; sudden as the sense of resolve that rolled over him.

He couldn't change the past, but he could change their futures.

* * *

That pale blue loneliness was still on his mind as the inflated holo of the Supreme Leader rippled and fizzed before him, electric fireflies swirling at the base of the projection where he had fixed his gaze.

"...and that is why it is imperative," General Hux prattled on with wild, desperate gestures, "that we dispose of the girl  _now_ while we have the chance. We have seen what she can do. She made a mockery of our soldiers on Starkiller Base, almost defeated  _Ren_ with no training. We cannot let her get any stronger and return to the Resistance."

He flinched as Hux hissed his name, all the venom in the general's voice doing little to mask the sheer delight of admitting that Ren was still slave to his weaknesses and had almost failed on account of it. Against the floor, his splayed fingertips steadied him as he kneeled before the Supreme Leader, kept him anchored in the moment as the tide of rage crept forth, lapped at his composure and swelled against his resolve. Measuring his breaths, dragging them slow and deep, he conjured the familiar image of his heart sealed in carbonite—solid and unfeeling and invulnerable.

"Very well, General Hux." Snoke drawled at length. He propped an elbow on one of the arms of his throne, his sunken cheek on his clenched fist. When he spoke again, his tone was lazy, disinterested. "You may leave."

Hux's swooping bow at the waist hid the expression that eclipsed his visage momentarily—the flared nostrils and the harsh line of his frown—buying him precious time to smooth any signs of displeasure beneath a pall of supplication. He straightened himself, turned on his heel, and took his leave without so much as a glance at Ren.

When the door to the chamber clambered shut, the Supreme Leader chuckled. "You don't agree with him."

Ren hated it—hated when his thoughts were not his own. When he could not tell what was safe from Snoke's power and what was not, if the man's power could discriminate that all of the hate in his heart was not just for the family that had betrayed him. Still, he clenched his jaw, lips pressing into a grim line as he lifted his head to look into the eyes of the Supreme Leader.

"She's powerful, but untrained, vulnerable, and lonely."  _All the things he had been._ His rehearsed words flowed off his tongue effortlessly, voice for once even and without any of the passionate tremors it usually held; without the strain that hinted that he was on the edge of a meltdown wicked as a wildfire. "It's only a matter of time before she surrenders to the dark and becomes a tool for us to use."

The skin of Snoke's broad forehead scrunched and creased as his muscles raised amusement in his brow. Leaning forward ever so slightly, the holo rippling at the edges, he bore his pale, malevolent eyes into those of his apprentice. The tips of Ren's fingers tensed as he swayed beneath the intensity of the Supreme Leader's gaze, as the latent fear of not knowing what was to come thrummed in his limbs. So many times had he kneeled before him like this—nothing more than a child beneath the judicious gaze of a teacher. But there was no compassion in Snoke's eyes, no pride for Ren or hope for who he would become; only flickers of amusement amidst the malice and avarice that eternally held court in his pale blue eyes.

Wrought with tension, Ren's neck ached in surrender, his lungs strangling the air within them until he was left with only shallow breaths that trickled past his parted lips. Though his gaze was steady, unwavering, he knew all too well that his eyes betrayed the maelstrom of emotions within him.

"If she is as powerful and vulnerable as you say, then what would you like to do with her?" Snoke questioned, his voice delighted and patronizing as it had ever been, as if Ren's desires had ever mattered to him at all.

"I want to train her." He answered, but his voice was pitifully quiet, eroding with his resolve.

"And when she turns on you, what then?" The Supreme Leader bared his teeth in a grin that was as gleeful as it was wicked. "Would you kill her?"

"She won't." The words sounded so hollow to his own ears, though he desperately wanted to believe them—that somehow, this girl who was his enemy, who he had brutalized and taunted in horribly wicked ways, who undoubtedly  _hated_ him for the things he had done to her, could stay loyal to him when his own family could not.

He expected Snoke to laugh, to mock him for his hubris, to taunt him with the fact that at each opportunity, Ren had been unable to end her. But instead, silence. All-encompassing, abrupt silence that settled heavy like a pall over the chamber. Every moment thereafter passed too slowly, as if time was wading through lead. In his ears, his heartbeat was thick and heady, anxiety spooling along his limbs and prickling warm on the back of his neck. On his throne, Snoke lounged unmoving; his pale eyes were like ice, cold and sharp, as he stared down at Ren.

"Then train her. Bend her to your will before she destroys everything you have worked for." His voice was low and gravelly when he finally spoke; more the growl of a predator than the voice of a man. With a wave of his hand, the holo began to fade, the edges crackling and disintegrating into darkness, oblivion devouring the gnarled visage of the Supreme Leader.

Just before he disappeared entirely, before the tension wrought in Ren's body could ebb with the wave of relief that pulsed through him, Snoke spoke his final words. In his wake, they echoed ominous, rattling the walls of the chamber and whatever semblance of victory Ren thought he had achieved.

_"She will become a Knight of Ren, or she will die."_


End file.
